


Splinter

by rl4sb4eva



Series: Splinter [1]
Category: Being Human (UK), Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Bloodplay, Drunk Sex, M/M, Vampirism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-19
Updated: 2013-09-19
Packaged: 2017-12-27 00:23:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/972083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rl4sb4eva/pseuds/rl4sb4eva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set before both shows, in Oxford before Crane goes to America.<br/>Slight spoilers for 1x01 of Sleepy Hollow.<br/>None overly for Being Human.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Splinter

The seedy backrooms of Oxford are rife with the passing of pipes of opium in dark cellars of old houses, that aren't old so much as dark, stone built on stone in hurried emulation of bigger and better that sprawls and welcomes royalty and sinner of the highest order in equal measure.  
Her professors sprawled amongst her spires and chasing the dragon until their bodies are old and their students are blurs, as they try to impart garbled knowledge.  
The young men of the colleges leave and marry themselves off for money and a life of 'land-owning' or they stay in paneled rooms full of books and languages of savages and gentry.  
Crane is young, naive and whilst he has heard rumours he ignores them in favour of sipping an evening libation and reading the words on crisp paper in dark ink.  
He succumbs though, they all do, sliding into a tavern of a night and drinking with the students and in the clubs of the city. Before retiring to backrooms to ensure his career and hear of the troubles in The America's.  
He sees the man when he slides in, back straight, collar crooked as he sweeps through the room, entourage in tow. And he meets the man’s nod with one of his own.  
Three days and two weeks later and that man is gone, the tale of a family ripped apart and left for the dogs in the bloodied halls of their opulence whispered in the halls amongst the boys as they hurry to lectures and rustle papers to prove that Father's money is better than any essay could ever be.  
A different tavern, further out, closer to the smoke filled rooms of the real Oxford, where decisions that will affect generations are made, 69 days past and he returns, sliding into the free chair opposite Ichabod with a mumble and the slide of a glass over the table, amber liquor a finger deep in the scuffed tumbler as Ichabod lifts it to his lips and offers his thanks.  
They talk, dark heads closer together as they shift their chairs toward the fire to avoid the chill, table filling and emptying with glasses until he says leave the bottle and hands the wench a handful of coins. Tells her to bring another and some dates.  
They stay till the bar closes, and Ichabod staggers back to his rooms and wakes to drool on the pillow and headache as he downs a small ale and starts his lecture.  
He goes back to the same seat at the same table that night, and leaves at the bars close again.  
The man doesn't show.  
4 days after he gets information to travel to the colonies and assist with the war he staggers out of a tavern on the outskirts, head muggy with pipe fumes and perfumed thighs that had straddled his lap as he prepares to leave his safe, scholarly life.  
He stumbles into a red jacket, shined buttons catching the flames of lamps in the windows and making him blink, momentarily blinded.  
The arm around his waist makes him stagger as it drags him towards an alley, away from the waste of the streets and towards a den, curls of smoke coming through a broken pane of glass making it clear the occupation of the men within. He tries to struggle, but alcohol and worry have him staggering more as the arm leads him past the entrance and down toward a dog leg between two narrow building, barely big enough for them to slip through but widening beyond the entrance.  
Ichabod is leant against a wall and finally able to look up into shadowed eyes and mussed hair.  
The man doesn't speak, lets a hand wander the foot between them and touch Ichabod's neck briefly, running his fingertips under his chin to tip his head up slightly more. The man's slightly shorter but Ichabod's stance removes the difference and he blearily tries to meet his eyes, catches the absence of light as they go black and cool lips are on his, sharp teeth catching on his lip, and he tries to shove but the man is strong.  
One hand around his throat and the other moving across his shoulder and down his arm to snake under his jacket and start on the lacing of his trousers, sliding Ichabod's member out into the cool, rancid air.  
Almost frigid touch making him jolt against the lips and his hands try to push the man away, and he feels a slight sting on his lip and the taste of copper on his tongue.  
His heart pounds as the cold fingers toy with his half hard cock, the touch making him flush and his skin heart as it hardens in the filthy alley on the outskirts of his soon to be ex-home. His hips press against the wooden wall and he feels a splinter worm it's way through the thick fabric and slide into his skin, the slight pinprick matched on his lip as he moans.  
Filthily like the wanton whores he shoved away in the tavern as he presses his hips forward and feels the wooden boards creak around him.  
The hand on his throat squeezes slightly and he gasps as air become slightly harder to pull in through their joined but open mouths.  
The man pulls away and Ichabod sees his smirk and he presses soft kisses and sharp nips along his jaw and down to the side of his neck, cool tongue slipping between the long fingers pressed into his skin and hmming against the webbing as his hand shifts slightly, letting up the pressure enough for Ichabod to pull in a gasp and shiver as the slide of the mans hand gets slicker.  
He comes hard, faintly aware he must be spattering the front of both their outfits, and a flash of white against red wool makes him slump as the hand continues pumping him slowly. He shivers as a wet trickle makes itself known on his throat and watches as the man pulls away, letting his throat loose and bringing blood stained fingers to his mouth to lick away with a blood stained tongue.  
Ichabod shivers as he brings the other hand, covered in seed to his mouth and licks it up with the same precise movements, before he presses back in and runs his tongue up the column of his throat, catching the trickle in it's track and stopping to suckle on a slowly throbbing wound making itself known to Ichabod's sluggish brain.  
The man feeds until Ichabod is light-headed, spots before his eyes and hands limp at his side before stopping, smiling at his with red smeared lips and devil's eyes, and he laughs quietly as Ichabod slides down the wall and hits the floor with a groan, head striking the wood and making the spots in his eyes burn brighter momentarily. And he shakes his head, sweat slicked hair catching across his cheek and sticking, to try and clear his vision.  
The man looks down, and Ichabod mumbles something. His lips speaking when his brain hasn't fully recovered, and he registers asking his murderers name.  
Wondering why the man smiles and tells him he'll be fine.  
He asks again, brain more up to speed and it only takes two seconds for the thought to move from his lips to his mind.  
He barely catches it, and has to ask again as the man slips from the alley, catching the name as he shouts it over his shoulder and disappears into the den.  
Yorke he mumbles as he hears screams come from the den, the broken window pane becoming more shattered and the bright flare of a lamp against the dark of the shadows.  
He rolls the name around his mouth once more as he tries to stand and manages on the third try and get his shaky legs to hold him, Hal Yorke.


End file.
